The Sweetest of Surprises
by fiftyshadesofdevingray
Summary: Jughead Jones never did drugs, but he was pretty sure that Betty Cooper was his addiction. Fluff and Implied smut


Disclaimer: I own nothing, but would be rich as fuck if I did.

Summary: Jughead Jones never did drugs, but he was pretty sure that Betty Cooper was his addiction.

A/N: Just a little something inspired by the song "Bette Davis Eyes" and the last episode of Riverdale. My soul hurts.

"The Sweetest of Surprises"

"

 _ **Her hair is Harlowe gold.**_

He loves when Betty let's her hair loose from the constrains of her ponytail; Jughead knows in a way like his hat her ponytail is a symbolism of sorts; one of the façade she lets the world see, it's neat and perfect. Betty Cooper isn't neat or perfect; she is more complicated than that, she has more dimension than people give her credit for. Betty Cooper is an imperfect storm and Jughead Jones has a sick sense of pride that he is the only one who she lets see that side of herself.

The first time she takes her hair out for him they are lying in bed together spooning, the homework he had claimed to need help with was long discarded along with his beanie; Betty's hands were gently digging into his scalp, Jughead would never admit this but having his hair played with was one of his favorite feelings in the world. Jughead moves his hands to her hair and gives her ponytail a tiny tug.

"How come you never take this thing out?" Jughead murmured as he relished in the feeling of her smooth hair between his fingers.

"Because my hair would be a mess," she muttered back.

"I don't care, I wanna see."

Betty rolled over to look him in the eye, her eyebrow quirked. "You want to see my rat's nest?" She snorted.

"Yes."

"Even if you end up getting lost in it?"

"Then you can start a new murder board." Jughead smirked, "Come, I took my hat off for you, I show you the greasy mess that is my hair."

"Fine," Betty huffed. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Betty sat up, pulling the elastic band from around her hair, letting her blonde curls fall down her back. She gazed down at him, she looked beautiful, not that she didn't always; her hair far from a rat's nest, he tucked a stray hair that fell into her face behind her ear. He is mesmerized by her; can a head of hair do that you?

"I'm surprised your fingers didn't get lost." She chuckled, nuzzling back into his body.

"Yeah well, make a murder board for them if they did, we both know you're a pro at that."

 _ **Her lips a sweet surprise.**_

Jughead always found the act of kissing repulsive, just standing there pressing your face against somebody else. It didn't seem like a turn on like the other kids in his class found it; it just seemed wet, like you would need to wipe your mouth with your sleeve when you were done. He got this idea in the seventh grade when Archie had drug him to a party and he wound up kissing Lucy Nicholaysen in a game of spin the bottle, or maybe it was truth or dare; he had tried to block it out because she had spit her retainer out, he hadn't kissed another girl since.

That was until he had the pleasure of kissing Elizabeth Cooper, the urge started a month or so after he had started working at the Blue and Gold; he had known her longer than that, practically his whole life but he never really looked at her until the late nights they spent together. The more he learned what made her smile, what made her tick, even what she liked in her coffee (even if it was as repulsive as cream and eight sugars) made the urge grow more.

The levy finally broke after they visited her sister, Hurricane Betty was coming to the surface once again. She was letting herself come undone, she wasn't being that perfect girl next door anymore. The next thing he knew she was calming under his gentle hands and his unusually kind pep talk.

The urge to kiss her lips again felt too intense that day, he could help but gaze at her luscious lips. He wasn't articulate in that moment, he choked on the simplest of words; the next thing he knows is his lips are pressed against hers and it's not wet; he doesn't feel the need to wipe his lips in that moment; no oral hardware had been spit it out. It was perfect for lack of a better words, her lips soft against his.

The sweetest of surprises.

 _ **Her hands are never cold.**_

After he is released from questioning by Sheriff Keller Betty walked him home; they didn't speak, they didn't touch, he was shaken to his core and just wanted silence and to have her by his side. That was one of the things he loved about her, she didn't feel the need to fill the void with unnecessary chatter; she spoke when necessary or actually had something meaningful to say.

They wound up at her house at the end of the walk, both of them standing on her front porch. She is ringing her hands, something he has come to observe that she does when she's nervous which he is sure is due to the events of the day; that dark part of him felt hopeful that it is due to worry for him, but it's probably still just Polly which would make more sense.

Betty bit her lip and gazed up at him. "Did you want to come inside?" She asked, quietly. "We can watch American Graffiti."

The cinephile in him wanted to accept the offer, and go up to the Hitchcock blonde's room and watch as many old movies, but the introverted side took over.

"Maybe another time?" He reasoned, in a low tone. "I kind of just want to be alone for a little while, if that's okay."

Betty gave him and understand smile. "Of course, that's okay," she reassured him, reaching over to give his hand a squeeze.

Electricity shot through his body, how is it on such a cold day when neither had gloves her hands had felt so warm, so tender. First her hand against his cheek at the police station, now her hand against his. He never really felt that type of warmth before.

Maybe that's what home was supposed to feel like.

 _ **She's got Bette Davis Eyes**_

The idea of sex had always been repulsive to him, he had once heard it described as a "hug but just wetter." He wasn't fond of physical affection or swimming so both sounded like hell on Earth to him. That is until he started exploring that side with Betty; it had all started with simple kisses, a chaste peck on the lips here and there, but soon the kisses became more heated; things below the belt were explored. Jughead never drank or did drugs, but her touch felt as close to addiction as he ever experienced.

The night it finally happened, her parents had gone out of town for the weekend; Archie was out on a not so secret triste with a raven-haired princess. Jughead nor Betty had wanted to be alone that evening so he went over, climbed through her window to get his fix. It had started with something as sweet as settling down for a double feature of Rebel Without a Cause and the rain checked American Graffiti.

Somewhere during James Dean's ever dramatic monologue it had started to happen; the slow kisses had turned to something more heated and eventually lead to her moaning for him, for more. It was fumbled a bit as first times usually are, but it was the farthest thing from repulsive; he would even describe it was beautiful if he knew for a fact that it wasn't going to make him gag.

When it was over he looked down at her; Betty had her head rested against his chest, just a mass of blonde curls; her hands drawing small patterns that burned into his skin. She looked up at him, and he got lost in her eyes. All he could see in that moment was his future with her; whatever that held.

A/N: That was better in my head.


End file.
